


Kinquisition

by theWordShaker



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theWordShaker/pseuds/theWordShaker
Summary: Cassandra Pentaghast does a lot of thinking about the Inquisitor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so forgive me. Also I do not know how to use a macbook or apparently how to edit the text to make my stupid format readable. I'm getting a headache just looking at those indentations, or lack thereof.

The first time you fully remember this sickening clench in your chest was after the first attempt at sealing the Breach. Althea had fallen to her knees, and in that moment, you forgot how to breathe. You threw off soldiers left and right as you fought your way to her, desperate to know that her heart still beats.

At the time, you pin guilt to be the culprit. You had treated her harshly, and with judgment despite scolding yourself not to. To have the death of your only hope on your shoulder would be a futile undertaking; it was a suicide note waiting to happen.

Althea had proven herself to be a quite adept in the battlefields, both in arms and in tongue. The younger rogue had impressed you with how quickly she had grown into the role of your leader, unafraid to seek for council, or speak her mind if need be. There was not a solution she did not listen to with painful detail, a trait you strongly admire.

Yet, outside the War Room, she is seen in the company of the more rambunctious crowd. Even strangely still, her deep unspoken relationship to the Qunari. Althea patiently takes the time to observe and listen, matching the suitable character for the situation. But it isn’t like she’s wearing a mask--no, she’s just choosing which sides of her to show based on the company at hand. Like choosing to a tool to use best to accomplish a task.

In fact, Althea handles herself well at every situation with such grace and ease. As if she had chosen only the best parts of the war council, and put them to good use. You could not imagine the Inquisition without her at the helm. An image of a severed body parts terrorizing Thedas made for a comical relief, but it also centers you back.

It is true though, Althea had chosen the best functional parts of each of you, exploiting them to the best of the Inquisition’s benefit. Even more impossibly still, it appears she has remained kind and merciful despite the suffering she has endured, the horrors she has seen. And yet, these monsters did nothing but lead her further from the Maker she does not believe in.

You briefly wonder if leaving her side to be the next Divine is a foolish idea. What good are you as the Divine if the Inquisitor is dead and the whole of Thedas falls to Corypheus anyway?

“You know, I almost loathe to ask whatever these dummies did to you,” the Inquisitor’s sing-song voice fleets from the stairs as you hack another one in half.

“These dummies are just doing their job, Inquisitor.”

Over time, you have learned that making people blush is a certain specialty of the young rogue. You have heard rumors flying about who the Inquisitor’s lover was. Even more ridiculous rumors say that she’s sleeping with every single one of her advisors.

“Well, they are doing a poor job at it. Perhaps sturdier dummies would be better suited for you? Or should we start armoring them up as well?”  
Althea perched herself at the end of the banister, gray eyes shining with mirth, staring at you. You sheath your weapon, walking towards where she is sitting.

“I could always just hit Iron Bull,” that earns you a good hearty chuckle. It’s good that Althea has a wicked sense of humor, considering the horrors she’d have to get through. She hops off the ledge, walking with you to the battlements. “I heard Leliana making threats about killing you as soon as Corypheus is dealt with,” you mean for the words to be casual, but the rogue’s mood seemed to have taken a sour turn at the mention.

“Yeah,” came a dry reply from the usually wordy Inquisitor. You stop at the top of the battlements, watching people from the bridge. There’s more of them coming, everyday. Enlistees, refugees, they’re all coming for the Inquisitor.

“All those people…” you start, watching Althea watch the people below, “they’re all here for you.”

A humorless bark rips from Althea’s throat, and it almost felt like a punch in the gut.

“They’re not here for me. They’re here for what I represent to them; safety, hope, the Herald of Andraste,” she almost spits out the last words.

“Tell me, do you believe in the Maker, Inquisitor?”

Althea doesn’t even spare you a glance when she answers with another dark chuckle.

“Sure, something would’ve created all this, right? Doesn’t mean they care.”

This time, her gray eyes are trained on you. They glimmer brightly against the sun, her bronzed skin seeming golden.

“So you believe in the Maker?”

“Sure, if that’s what you must call it. You can’t deny the existence of gods when there’s literally monsters from your nightmares falling out of the sky. I’m not stupid, I have eyes. Of course some higher ethereal being is out there.”

“I still believe that you were sent by the Maker. His help is often hard to recognize at times.”

“You can believe whatever you’d like, Cassandra. Whatever gives you the most comfort.”

Unconsciously, Althea touches her left hand. You noticed that she is always wearing gloves. But you surmised that this was due to the fact that she was an archer. However, there was no need to wear gloves if she isn’t even armed.

“Does it still bother you?”

She laughs again.

“Of course, who wouldn’t be bothered by a glowing green thing permanently embedded in their left palm?” But then she returns your gaze, and her smile relents. “Nothing much more than banging your elbow would bother you.” Then she looks far away again, in a place you cannot reach. “I do believe that one day it will swallow me,” she chuckles, shaking her head, “knowing that brings me comfort; I will die by my own hand.”

Suddenly, you feel the need to yell at her, to contradict everything she’s saying. You grab her shoulders, making her startled.

“I will not let the Mark kill you. We will find a way to rid of it, Althea.” The raw determination in your voice is enough to shake her to senses. She breathes in deeply before nodding.

“Well, I suppose I will be dying by Leliana’s hand then.” You chuckle this time, still not letting go of her shoulders. You don’t notice the wild beating of her heart.

“That I cannot protect you from. What did you ever do to incur the wrath of our spymaster?” You finally let go of her, and you both lean over the walls.

“I’m not sure, really. One day Leliana just started threatening me about Josephine, so I went to our dear ambassador to clear things up, and it seems…”

“Not cleared up?” You finish helpfully. The younger woman just shrugs her shoulders in response. “Perhaps it is the fact that you are very open with your affections?”

“You mean, I flirt like I was single and available and just looking to get some before I most likely will die?”

You turn beet red at her open admittance. So you were right, she was flirting with you, and everyone, apparently.

“Yes, that.”

She hums, rocking back and forth in the heels of her feet. She appears thoughtful, as if really considering every moment she’s been in.

“It’s just flirting, a way for me to relax, and forget about the drivel that is always trying to kill me. And the end of the world, and all that.” She looks at you, openly looks at you. And you see her big gray eyes, and the now-constant dark hollows underneath. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” the last part is whispered. And you see her fold within herself. You watch the Inquisitor--Althea shrink back into the size of a young lady, barely on the brink of adulthood. She was no longer the fearless leader of the Inquisition. All of you has seemingly forgotten that the Inquisitor was barely of twenty summers.

“I’m not afraid of dying, or monsters, or things I could kill,” her eyes welcome you in their depths, “I’m afraid of dying unloved.”

“You are loved all across Thedas, Inquisitor.”

The dry laughter she releases is rather unpleasant, you find. “Oh, dear, Seeker. Those people love their Herald, and for that I am grateful. But first, I must be loved as Althea Bernarda Jovina Cecilia Remulain Trevelyan,” you both laugh, knowing the pains of a long noble name.

“There are countless of proposals pouring in everyday, Inquisitor. Anyone would be very honored to have the chance to love you.”

She smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She nods, choosing to speak of the subject no longer.

“Inky--!” came a yell from the door of the tavern, “--let’s go shoot some nugshits!”

The lithe warrior nimbly jumps down all the way from the ledge.

“Inquisitor--!” but she’s already off the ledge, rolling expertly on her shoulder to soften her fall. She doesn’t even miss a beat and simply stands up. Althea waves at you absentmindedly as Sera brushes dirt off her person. Once the Inquisitor was preoccupied, the elf sticks her tongue out at you and you huff in annoyance. What an indignant little shit, you think to yourself. You do not like the influence she has on the Inquisitor.


	2. Halamshiral

The change of air was gradual but noticeable. You had told Althea days before that you could not reciprocate her feelings because she was a woman. What initially was joy on her facade was soon replaced with something entirely wrong. You feel that familiar clench on your chest, the rock in your throat. And like a coward who could not bear what you’ve done, you leave her to her lonesome. 

She did not take you on her latest mission, or the next one after that. Not that you’ve offered yourself up either. However, there was no way Leliana or Josephine would let you skip Halamshiral. The Inquisitor did not put up much protest at the line-up after her initial complaints. 

Thankfully, the Inquisitor’s party wore uniform military regalia. Althea, however, was not so fortunate. Josephine must’ve spent weeks fussing over the Inquisitor’s gown, changing pearls to Ostwick beads, or from purple lush velvet to crushed emerald lustrous satin. 

Althea could be seen complaining and rolling her eyes as Josephine fusses over the final details of her gown. When she turns around, you feel that painful clench the third time. The Inquisitor is clad in a bleeding red gown, intricately embroidered with gold. To say her gown rivals that of any in Orlais, would be an understatement. Her brown skin looks golden in all that red. Her hair that is typically held in a bun is artfully worn in loose curls held by a matching hairpin, almost like a crown. Her thick lashes cast a shadow on her high cheekbones, and for the first time you notice, her face somehow remains unscarred. 

She looks like the maiden in those blasted romance novels you so hungrily consume. But Althea was her own savior, and she definitely was not looking for men. Her beauty is just as annihilating as her blades. 

“Inquisitor!” came from Duke Gaspard, stealing her away from your hungry gaze. It takes you a moment to regain your composure but when you do, you notice Blackwall staring after her with his mouth agape. You make a disgusted noise at the back of your throat before elbowing him. 

“Close your mouth, Grey Warden.” The warrior appears embarrassed that you’ve noticed. He clears his throat, and doesn’t even give you a second look. 

It turns out, Althea can win in any battlefield, armored or not. All night you watched her charm the wits off every noble she spoke with, or even glanced at. It was like magic; she turned her pretty face, and vicarious gown as her weapon. You saw her control the field with her own gloved fingertips. Her tongue turned into a serpent, or a dagger when needed, then turned sweet as Antivan wine the next. 

The life of nobility has been force fed on you, and you spat out every single bite. Althea, however, suckled on every drop. She was ever the eager student. At first, you thought she had done it to get the favor of Solas. But as time wore on, you found that she just absorbed information in general. So of course, being the youngest child of a noble family, Althea had all the time in the world to devote to learning. 

Watching her here is almost the same as watching her in the battlefield. She is naturally as gracious. This is her second dance in the evening, but she looks just ever so flush, and young, and happy. She truly had taken your advice for her to spread the influence of the Inquisition. The masked man dancing with her whispered something into her ear, which the Inquisitor responded with honeyed laughter. You don’t even notice your white-knuckled grip on the table until Leliana says so. 

“Keep your grace, Cassandra. It’s rude to unsheath your claws at a civilized event.” She accompanies the slight with humor but you know there’s truth in there. You release your hold on the table, and exhale loudly through your nose. This in turn makes the spymaster chuckle. “The young man appears to be quite taken with our Inquisitor, no?” You make a disgusted noise. 

“Who isn’t taken with our Inquisitor?” This time, Leliana’s laugh is dangerously melodious. 

“Hm, good, they’ll be eating off her palm by the end of the night.”

 

At the end of the night, you find her alone in a quiet balcony. “Everyone is raising a toast to you, yet here you are.” She spares you a small glance. 

“I think I’m done with people for the evening,” she ruefully responds.

“Oh, did you want to be alone? Should I go?” 

“No,” her hand reaches out to you before you could even take a step, “stay, just…” she doesn’t need to say another word. It was one of the things you enjoyed about her company. Silence between the two of you are not awkward, nor stifling. In fact, you both can spend hours wordless with each other. And this feels just like every other time.

Except now, you are painfully aware of how her eyes remind you of the moon. How the pale moonlight casts an eerie glow on her dark skin, catching her eyes right perfectly. Your heart loudly pumps in your head and slowly, your vision blurred. 

In a single step you grab Althea by her small waist, making her gasp as your lips crash together. It takes her but a second to respond, her hands quickly entwining behind your neck. You have never tasted anything so delicious. A tentatively swipe of your tongue gains you entrance to her mouth. Her moans are driving your fingers into the bones of her corset, wanting her closer--

“--the Inquisitor was so delightful!” 

You throw her an arms length away, quickly hiding your face from the people walking by. You both wait for them to finish before either one of you speaks up. 

“This was a mistake,” the words tumble quickly from your dumb mouth. 

“A mistake,” she whispers to herself before she swallows, and looks at you with tears brimming in those big, gray eyes. She inhales deeply before fixing her face and returning to a placid expression you do not recognize.


	3. SMUT HERE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINISHED SOMETHING YALL! Anyway, enjoy the Cassandra smut. Constructive criticisms highly encouraged. Peace out!

When Corypheus came banging at the walls of Skyhold, Althea had been prepared. The ground rumbled and the darkspawn came with his dragon. And the Inquisitor’s response? Nothing short of a maniacal grin that would make Leliana proud.

Once the land fell back into place--the Inquisitor having done the impossible once more--your voice echoes in the vacated walls, calling after her name desperately; a prayer and a stone on your throat. And when she stood up unscathed, you finally allow yourself to breathe. And it seems, the whole of Thedas did, too. You are more than happy to let Josephine have a party instead of a funeral.

  
It’s late into the night when the Inquisitor finally slips away from the roaring crowd. It’s easy for you to escape, no one questions your absence from social events. You use the secret passage to her quarters, skipping over the guards at the front.

Your heavy steps echo in the staircase, you wanted to make sure she had plenty of notice to know that someone is coming. You find the young rogue struggling to remove her light chainmail. You smile to yourself, remembering a time when the rogue would fight at every insistence of armor. In a few steps, you are beside her, taking over where her hands were. You are much faster at unbuckling it than she is, having done this for Althea in the first weeks of your travels.

“Thank you,” she whispers. You flush, not knowing how to respond to the unexpected gratitude.

“You were the one who saved all of Thedas,” you point out, “so thank you.” She simply laughs as you work on removing the rest of her armor.

“No, I do not think you understand,” she turns to look at you, her big gray eyes full of something you are too afraid to name, “you have been a very dear friend to me. You have guided me and protected me. You have taken countless of arrows and daggers and spells meant for me. And I need you to know that there is no one else in all of Thedas I’d trust to have my back. So, thank you, Cassandra. I would not be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“You give me too much credit, Inquisitor.” Althea laughs, now only in her tunic. She removes it without a care, including her breast band, baring the large bruise running from her left shoulder all the way down her right hip.

“When did you get that?” your breath is pushed out of your lungs. “You didn’t appear injured--why didn’t you say anything?”

“The adrenaline probably helped in holding it back. And Vivienne gave me a potion before the party. She said there’s more,” she points towards a bag on the couch, and you grab it. You kneel before her, bag in hand. But then you see the mark, shining brightly.

“Does it hurt?” she swallows but then her gray eyes steels as you meet hers.

“Yes, but not as much as it used to. It seems quiet, peaceful even.”

“Here,” you uncork one, handing it to her. You watch her gulp it down with a grimace.

“Inquisitor,” you begin, “I must apologize to you. It’s about what happened… at Halamshiral. I…” you shake your head, trying to fight for the words to come out.

“Cass, I’d really like to not talk about that after what’s probably the biggest triumph I will ever achieve in my life.”

“No, please, let me finish--I deeply apologize. I was a fool. I did not recognize the emotions I felt. Perhaps maybe because I have never felt this way before. Not with a man, anyway. It was--is still driving me mad. I--I cannot think of anything but our kiss, and your lips. It’s like everything in those books I’ve read about and more. It is uncomfortable and I feel like my chest is going to burst but the thought of you…” you finally pause for a breath, appalled at what you have just spilled. But the way she looks at you, sweet Andraste, you would lose your mind if you did not tell her everything. “I am very afraid, Inquisitor. But I would like to court you, if you’d have me.”

She stares at you with her lips parted, eyes wide open. You wait for her to speak, for a second, then another. Then you can’t take it anymore. “Please say something--anything!”

“Wait,” she swallows, “you want to court me?”

“I--yes, Inquisitor. I have… feelings for you, romantic feelings.” You are flushed with heat, from head to toe. “I understand if you no longer feel the same way, or have otherwise moved on. I know you and Sera were--”

“Wait,” she exhales loudly through her nose, “Cassandra, you’re not just saying that because of some bullshit Varric-esque romance serial about the hero getting the girl, right?”

“I--no, kind of, I swore to myself that I’d be brave enough to try if--when you defeat Co” she chuckles, you glare, “--but I’m willing to try, Althea, if you’d have me.”

“Only if you swear not to actually wait to fuck me until after marriage, as is customary in my culture.”

“On my honor, I swear to defile yours,” Althea’s laughter cuts through the room as she throws her arms around you, pulling you to her lips.

And when they finally land on you, sweet Andraste, it feels like everything that’s right in the world is here. There’s nothing else more important in the universe than the warmth of her mouth and the sounds she’s making. Her lips open willingly to yours, inviting you to every corner of her being.

Althea’s hands are both searching and sure as if she’s mapping out every inch of your body with her fingers and her lips. Your hands grab her waist towards you, her bare skin prickling at the coldness of your armor.

“Off, now,” she growls, the smaller woman roughly tugs at your armor, deft fingers somehow now expertly finding the buckles she had trouble with earlier.

“This is the fastest I have ever seen you remove armor, Inquisitor,” you tease.

“I only ever need the right motivation, Seeker,” the way her eyes fully dilate when they land on you sends a jolt in your nether regions. Through both your teamwork and dedication, you are freed from your garments in record time. She pushes you into the bed, gray eyes now almost all black as she crawls atop you in all fours, breathing ragged, eyes trailing languidly up your body.

“Oh, Cassandra,” your name rolls off her tongue like a soft prayer, her accent soft and lilting, “you are so breathtaking,” your skin prickles up where her breath touches, and not long after, her warm mouth on yours. You cannot help the guttural moan that escapes from deep within you, your hands finding purchase on her naked skin.

Her lips open in an invitation and you happily drink all of her. You can no longer tell which moans belonged to who, only recognizing your own voice when you say her name as she slips her thigh between your legs. Your dripping center touches her bare skin and she moans with you in unison. Her hands cup your breasts, making you arch your back for more, more, more!

Her hand travels downward, relishing the power contained beneath her hands. One hand grabs her hair, the other her hips--pulling her closer. Then her mouth is on your untouched breast, your nipples quickly turning into hardened stones as she rolls it in her tongue. Finally, her fingers reach where you need her the most, slipping between your thighs and into that wet heat you badly need to be filled. She sinks a single finger into your slick folds and the moan that escapes you loud enough to wake the dead.

“Inquisitor--!” you cry out, digging your fingers into her back, your legs wrapped around her tightly, “yes!” the pace she builds is painfully steady, making you grind your hips wantonly into her.

“Say my name, Seeker,” she whispers huskily, using her thumb to draw circles on your engorged clit before adding a second finger.

“Oh,” you release a loud moan, and then she faces her palm towards your clit, using her hips to set a mind-numbing pace.

“Say my name, Cassandra,” she roughly whispers, “or I’ll stop.”

“No--!” you pull her closer, almost making her falter in her ministrations, “Althea, Althea, Althea, Althea…!” you call out her name like the Chant of Light, blasphemy of sins you cannot regret.

Her lips clasp into a hardened nipple, and the shout that’s ripped from your throat is loud enough to make mountains tremble. You cum against her hand in waves, the sound of wet skin, and your hoarse yells echoing in the Inquisitor’s large chambers.

She gently brings you down from your euphoria, her lips leaving marks that you’ll soon find endearing. She kisses every scar, every freckle, there is no hurry here. Her breath tickles your skin as her mouth moves lower and lower. Her soft lips gently kiss the sides of your hips, the top of your thighs. The gentleness in which she touches you could only be described as reverence.

Then she finally peels your legs open, your wet center glistening with desire. She lowers her body slowly, lavishing kisses and soft touches in places you’ve forgotten. Her arms hold your legs wide open to her; a delicate butterfly, a buffet waiting to be devoured. Suddenly, it seems all her patience crumbles and her face is framed in between your legs.

Her tongue laps at you hungrily, begging, licking, wanting. She’s drinking you as if she was dying of thirst. There’s raw desire in the moans that reverberate through your dripping heat. In seconds, her tongue is replaced by two fingers, her mouth sucking on your clit.

“Maker YES!” you cant your hips into her face hungrily, fingers entrenched in her hair, pulling her closer. It feels obscene, a Seeker fucking herself with the Inquisitor’s face, but Maker’s balls, it feels so fucking good.

Then she flattens her tongue, dragging it up and around your clit, and your grind your hips to meet her. “Inquisitor, yes!” and then in seconds, you are crashing in a delicious, delirious surrender. She doesn’t stop, making your body sing like a lyre she plays with her fingers. You don’t know how long it takes before you body stops humming. Your heartbeat is finally returning to normal as she drapes half of her body on you, skin sticky with sweat, fingers tracing unfathomable constellations on your skin.

“That tickles,” you swat at her hand, “are you unable to stay still for a single moment?” The Inquisitor laughs, her breath fleeting on your skin. She rests her head on your shoulder, your arms easily encircling her body. You kiss the top of her head, running your fingers on her skin, feeling this woman capable of shaking the world wrapped in your arms.

You attempt to move her, wanting to give her the same pleasure you just experienced. But upon closer inspection, her breathing has evened out, eyes closed. Her marked hand is safely tucked underneath the pillows, her right arm draped around you, legs entwined, naked bodies entangled.

“Goodnight, Althea,” you whisper into her hair, a smile ghosting your lips as you let the exhaustion take you.


End file.
